Mandela effect, A wrinkle in the reel, Memory’s a prankster With a cosmic sense of zeal. I swore I knew truth Like the veins in my hand, Now I’m lost in the edits Of a misprinted land. erries and leaves, A cornucopia dream— But dreams glitch easy When the seams start to scream. No horn of plenty, No horn at all, Just fruit and some leaves— Is that all we recall? Where did it go, That basket so grand? Did it slip through a crack In the code of the land? I saw it, I swear, On the seams of my briefs, A horn overflowing Beyond all belief. Now it’s just grapes And an apple so plain, My mind’s doing cartwheels In a memory hurricane. [interlude] [bridge] Maybe we dreamed it, A collective short‑circuit, Or maybe they swapped it Before we could observe it. A fruit‑shaped conspiracy, A horn that was torn— Proof that reality Gets patched and reborn. No horn of plenty, No horn at all, Just fruit and some leaves— Is that all we recall? Where did it go, That basket so grand? Did it vanish like static Across the whole land?
